


Friggin' SAIYANS!

by Lord_Lampwick



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, Gen, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Lampwick/pseuds/Lord_Lampwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuffles. Tsufurujin. Tsujin. Tsufuls. Topharids. Science elves. Whatever the hell they're called, they hate Saiyans almost as much as they love hard liquor.</p><p>Vegeta's about to find out that there's quite a bit more of them in the multiverse than he anticipated. What's more, their cranky-ass emperor just sent his deadliest cyborg assassin, Makinto, to make a meat smoothie out of the Saiyan Prince for a crime he didn't (?) commit.</p><p>But a greater threat to both races lurks in the distance. In order for Vegeta to stop a one-sided war between Earth and a massive space armada of alcoholic gremlins, Vegeta will have to come to terms with the ugly truth of the Saiyan-Tuffle war - and in doing so, meet his anonymous mother.</p><p>Takes place just after Resurrection "F".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Wait, it was a colony?!"

**Planet Topharis**

**Home Reality:** Pocket Universe Aleph-77

 **Climate:** Cold ~~as balls~~

 **Dominant Species:** Topharids ("Tuffles" to you _mouth-breathers_ )

**Other Species:**

  * Common Icelizard
  * Reticulated Icelizard
  * Pygmy Icelizard
  * Giant Icelizard
  * Red-Bellied Icelizard
  * Marine Icelizard
  * King Icelizard
  * ~~Collared Tundra Mammoth~~  (Update: was actually a Collared Icelizard)



**Central Government:** The Resplendent, Gold-Plated, Amazing, Aesthetically-Appealing-to-All-Five-Senses, and Immortal Empire of the Valiant Sevenfold Pilgrimage to the Golden Topharid Destiny, Long Live the Emperor, May He Smile Upon Us All For All Eternity ("Tuffle Empire" to you _plebians_ )

 **Reigning Emperor:**  Ferootus XVIII

 **National Animal:** Icelizard

 **National Competitive Sport:** Major League Paperwork

**Extradimensional Imperial Colonies:**

  * Planet Fern, Universe 2
  * Planet Kudzu, Universe 10
  * Planet Dúlamán, Universe 3 (as well as the subsidiary Dúlamánic Territories)
  * Planet Lettuce, Divergent Universe Metatron-Theta
  * Planet Plant, Universe 7 (Update: ~~Seceded after Tuffle Kingdom Independence Conflict, renamed Planet Tuffle~~ ) (Update 2: ~~Topharid population eradicated in Saiyan-Tuffle War, Saiyans establish control, Imperial Parliament votes against retaliation 403 to 207~~ ) (Final Update: Exploded by ~~some insufferable arsegoblin named~~  Frieza - **Conclusion: Universe 7 is more of an ultraviolent pile of icelizard manure than the acceptable median, total non-intervention suggested** )



 

* * *

_For God's sake,_ thought Emperor Ferootus,  _is there some kind of law against letting an emperor relax?_

"Sire!" Again, Chancellor Bardelay's shriek rung throughout the Holy Sanctum of Peace and Reason, bringing an unpleasant vibration to the Tuffle Emperor's throne.

The Emperor raised a hand in Bardelay's direction. He took a long drink from his crystal tankard of Old Kudzu Doom Cider ("Spatial Disortion Exploitation" variant, 250% alcohol by volume) and worked up the stamina to look in his chancellor's direction. "Bardelay," he grumbled. "The whole 'speak-when-you're-spoken-to' thing comes to mind."

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Now that I have spoken to you, you may speak."

"Pardon?"

The Emperor kneaded his aching head. "Just tell me your news, you piss-guzzling rat's abortion."

The chancellor couldn't hide his grin, as this was the sweetest thing the Emperor had said to him this month -- but this was no time to celebrate. "Sire, Cranbari Bay was attacked by a Saiyan three hours ago."

"Oh, _fantastic,_ " spat the Emperor. "With any luck, he'll kill us all so that I don't have to scream at Parliament today. What's the damage?"

"The majority of the CB Eastern District has been leveled. The Saiyan is still at large, but has promised a repeat attack at an unspecified time."

"Casualties?"

"We're only working with rough estimates at the moment, but: the last recorded body count was in the area of 5,200."

A considerably less awkward silence filled the room.

The Emperor sighed, and huddled his small body deeper into his icelizard-pelt robe. The scale-tipped fur brushed against his thick black beard. A welcome distraction. For a moment, he pictured the recovered video footage of the Saiyan-Tuffle war. He remembered how he swore to his grieving citizens that a giant ape would never again set foot on imperial ground.

He shuddered. _So that's w_ _hy an emperor must never relax._

"Let it be understood," he said, "that the whole 'with any luck, he'll kill us all' thing was off-the-record."

"Yes, Your Excellency. Anything else?"

"First thing's first - I'm going to need a stronger drink."

* * *

The grass of Krillin's yard shook as Vegeta gathered energy.

"You sure you're all right with this?" said Vegeta.

"What can I say," said Krillin as he tightened his grip on the senzu bean in his fist. "I gotta start up Marron's college fund somehow."

"Indeed. Well, if we're doing this right, I need something to get angry about."

"Gotcha." Krillin cleared his throat as theatrically as he could. "You'll never be as strong as Goku."

"Heard that a million times. Keep it coming."

"Okay... Yamcha has a bigger dick?"

"Not realistic. Try again."

"Bulma is annoying?"

"I don't even disagree with that one."

"...Trunks is a little bitch?"

"Damn it, bald man! You've been doing a _stellar_  job of offending me up until now. Are you getting soft already?!"

Krillin smirked. "Keep your voice down, Vegeta. If my wife hears you doing this, she's gonna break both your arms again!"

**BAM!**

Vegeta's hair blazed with golden light as he uppercut Krillin into the stratosphere.

"That's better."

 _"Okay, what the actual fuck?!"_ The voice was shrill, piercing, and always meant either lectures or ridiculous sex (let's face it, the in-between was slowly going extinct in that regard). Vegeta froze - Bulma had been watching the whole time. 

"Look, woman--"

"No, _you_ look. I have no idea what Krillin did, and I don't doubt that he might have deserved it, but I don't want you murdering our friends without their permission!"

"See, that's the thing," said Vegeta. "The bald one and I have an arrangement of sorts. I get to punch a short person, and he gets 5,000 zeni and a senzu bean each time."

"You like beating up short people?"

"You kidding me? That shit is like crack."

Bulma crossed her arms. "Well, you could always just punch yourself for free."

A voice from the sky:  _"shots fired!"_

Vegeta let shot a small ki blast upward.

A pained voice from the sky: _"that one's on the house!"_

Vegeta sat in the grass and leaned his face in his fist, because clearly he was five years old. "How else am I going to pass the time? Kakarot's off doing some special training with Whis, Beerus is back in bed, whatever's left of Frieza's army just went up in flames, and every hobby or entry-level job on this diaper-licking garbage party of a planet requires that I don't murder anyone! You don't understand, having nothing to fight is a Saiyan's worst nightmare!"

"I know, it sucks," said Bulma, as she put a loving and/or condescending hand on Vegeta's shoulder. "Peacetime can get pretty boring, but look at it this way: at least it's better than all your friends and family being murdered by alien invaders, right?"

"Bulma. I appreciate the intention, but 'better than being murdered by aliens' can be said about a lot of things, including having a dead pigeon consensually rammed up your ass."

"...how do you _know_ that?!"

Awkward silence of the decade.

Suddenly, the meat grinder of Vegeta's brain began to inexplicably produce gold: "Wait. Bulma. That's it! You just gave me a brilliant idea."

"Please don't tell me you're gonna take a dead--"

"If there isn't a worthy opponent trying to attack me, there's an easy way to fix that. I just need to instant transmission to the nearest planet that's populated with potential enemies -- Is Orchara still around? Nappa was gonna blow that up after the Earth mission, but I killed him here. -- Anyway, just a challenge here, a war crime there, and pretty soon they'll send out a battle fleet--"

**"NO."**

"...come on, woman, I've been so--"

Bulma snatched him by the hair and got right in his face. " _No one_ in my family is starting an interplanetary war, or committing any war crimes."

"I think it's common knowledge at this point that I've killed _quite a lot_ of--"

"I MEAN FROM NOW ON! And that's final. Got me?!"

Vegeta took in a long sigh through his nose.

"Fine," he grumbled. _"I promise I won't attack any alien planets."_

* * *

 

_"I am Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, and I'm here to finish what my father started -- by wiping you Tuffle filth out of existence in my dimension and all others!"_

"...and, pause," said the Emperor.

The hologram above the glass table froze on a frame of Vegeta, as he stood above the ruins of a doom cider brewery. At the edge of the table, Emperor Ferootus kneaded his fingers in his fur hat, as the twelve members of his royal cabinet stared him down for any hint of an opinion.

"The most current estimate of the death toll sits at 7,390 Topharid civilians," said the Emperor, "as well as 40 military response operatives. As this lunatic's power level was recorded at just under 60 billion--" 

Hushed murmurs.

_"I'm still talking, you rancid fucksticks!"_

No hushed murmurs.

"Thank you. -- his power level is just under 60 billion, so we're running out of viable options for retribution. This isn't something we can 'live and let die' about again - this is Cranbari Bay we're talking about, and here on Topharis. For God's sake, it's only 1,400 units north of the Capital. If there's any way we can stop his planned repeat attack, we need ideas, and we need them _yesterday_. Dr. Raichi, you have the floor."

The hologram in the Science Department's chair flickered. Dr. Raichi, as usual, was telecommuting from Hell. "It's definitely the same Saiyan I fought on the Dark Planet," he said. "But this isn't a form or a power level that I thought was possible with his kind. Golden hair and enhanced muscle mass are one thing, but white hair and over-inflated flesh armor? Perhaps this is that 'Super Saiyan God' thing that's been making the rounds."

"So what's your proposition?" said the Emperor.

"Well, first, we build a robot, then we use the power of pure hatred to--"

"Oh, right," said the Emperor, "we all know how _swimmingly_ that idea went the last time you fought him."

"Hey now, Hatchiyack was otherwise invincible! If I still had all the resources that Planet Plant had to offer, he would have--"

"'Otherwise invincible' is better known as 'not invincible,' you troglodyte. Admiral Radalesh?"

The female Tuffle in full military regalia took a swig of her extremely alcoholic "tap water", as not all methods of coping with Saiyan attacks were healthy. "Hatred is but one emotion of many," she said, "and perhaps better suited for a long-dead civilization and their unfinished business. But the attack on Cranbari Bay is still very fresh in our minds - perhaps we should rebuild Hatchiyack and power it with grief and fear, and possibly patriotism for some extra spiciness?"

"This would be a fantastic idea," said the Emperor, "if we had anywhere near the time needed to build a high-capacity emotive drive. Now, if we would all have the courtesy to cease this unnatural obsession with bringing back Dr. Raichi's pink racism machine, I would greatly appreciate that."

Hushed murmurs.

"Well, I got nothin'," said Dr. Raichi.

"Nice knowing you guys," said Chancellor Bardelay.

"I wonder if the afterlife has doom cider?" said Admiral Radalesh.

"What were we talking about again?" said Bishop Leemo.

The Emperor drew in a long breath for the greatest curse-out that the Tuffle Empire had seen in its two billion years of history and culture, when--

"If I may," said Lady Pample, chief director of the Imperial Secret Service.

The hushed murmurs went extinct. When the last survivor of Planet Plant spoke, not even the Emperor would dare interrupt.

Lady Pample wasn't a very old Tuffle - about 50 in human years, - but the hardships of her life had left the look in her eyes indistinguishable from the average exhumed mummy. Her thin hands peeked out from her woven purple shawl and rested on the table as she gathered her weary wisdom.

"I understand," she said, "that Vegeta's attack was interrupted by one of our assassins?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Radalesh. "Railgun sniper bullet to the sternum. He wasn't killed, but the shock powered him down and forced him to retreat."

"Then without a doubt, he's back in Universe 7, licking his wounds. I wouldn't be surprised if we found him on Earth with that wife of his."

"She's hot," said the Chancellor.

"Bardelay, I will fucking murder you," grumbled the Emperor.

"Not gonna lie, she kind of is," said Lady Pample. "Now, Your Excellency, seeing as this is specifically Prince Vegeta we're talking about, I would like to take complete charge of his termination, as this is something of a personal matter."

The Emperor grinned. "You're sending Makinto to Earth?"

"Who else? He's been aching for this chance from the day he got his cybernetics."

"Alright, Lady Pample, I'll allow it. But are you sure he's up for the task? A 60 billion power level is nothing to laugh at. I'm fairly certain that if a being of that strength sneezed, it would flatten a solar system."

It was Lady Pample's turn to grin. "I assure you, sire, the proof you need of Makinto's skill is resting against your neck."

Only then did the Emperor (or anyone else) notice that the molecule-splitting point of Makinto's Xiphos Assassination Implant had only stopped a few millimeters before piercing his jugular vein from behind the chair.

The Emperor laughed as Makinto retracted the blade. "Yep, he's ready."

 

 


	2. Yer Gettin' Shit Fer Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makinto's making his gift deliveries, and Vegeta's on the naughty list.

…But beyond all that irrelevant bullshit about mutually assured destruction and genocide, the people of Earth knew the one thing that really mattered: The Herculemas Season was upon them!

That’s right, kiddies - halfway to Christmas, on the last thursday of July, children all over Earth celebrate the day when Mr. Hercule Satan historically announced that he’d make his own bootleg Christmas with which to stroke his ego further. When Wednesday morning came, Mr. Buu (better known as Satan Claus) would sneak into houses and leave presents for all the kids of the world - and since he’s a nigh-omnipotent death god, doing it all in one night was actually _feasible_.

The West City mall even had a man in a pink fatsuit, who had no idea how royally fucked all the way to the ninth circle of Hell he was going to be in about five minutes from now.

* * *

 

“…and I want the Dragonballs, and a hundred million Zeni, and total control of the laws of physics, and immortality, and whatever a ‘blowjob’ is, and—“

“Great,” said Keith “Satan Claus” Stumperson. “I’ll keep it in mind. Next!” He tossed the blue (wait, what?) child off his lap unceremoniously.

“Don’t you reject me, Claus - I am the great Emperor Pilaf!”

“Yeah, and I’m Commander Piss Off. Next!”

No sooner had Emperor Pilaf been wrangled away by his attendants than the next child plopped into Keith’s lap.

He seemed like a nice enough boy - red hair, black hoodie, probably nine years old. His eyes were facing down, so clearly, he was nervous. _Maybe this one won’t even take a piss in my lap,_ he thought.

His arms were, inexplicably, plated with gold and tiny lights. _Prosthetics, perhaps?_

“Haw haw haw, Joyous Herculemas,” said Keith. “What do you want for—“

**_SSSHING!_ **

Within the span of a millisecond, the boy’s right forearm had instantaneously melted and reformed into a golden blade, which now rested against Keith’s throat. The boy looked up at Keith. His eyes were black silhouettes. His brow wrinkled with rage.

“Makinto, Rank 24, Topharid Empire Secret Service.” he spat. Despite his appearance, the kid’s voice was that of a 50-year-old chain smoker. _“Where is he.”_

“Uh… yeah, okay, could you put the sword, or… whatever that—“

“Eight thousand of my people _died screaming_ yesterday, and their murderer is on this planet. _Where is Prince Vegeta._ I will not ask again.”

“…H-how would I know that?” Keith trembled as he stared at the arm-sword. He swore he could hear air molecules grate and split against the edges as the weapon hovered ever closer to his neck.

“I was informed by the local Commercial Enforcement Operative—“ a nearby security guard looked at Keith with an apologetic shrug. “—that you would know what I want. Is this true? Are you, or are you not, Satan Claus?!”

Before Keith could reply, some brat in the back of the line — an unusually tall second-grader who probably used elitism as a coping mechanism to hide her deep-seated insecurities — said “he’s just an actor, you know.”

Makinto’s pupils, two dots of light, came into view. The lights on his arms began to glow and hum with the work of nuclear servos and destron energy conduits.

 _“Deception is an act of war,”_ hissed Makinto, _“and will be treated as such.”_

* * *

 

Trunks stood before his father as he took his mid-afternoon nap on the couch. Unlike a lot of other naps he'd seen his father take (on account of he's a little upstart creeper cruising for a place on the sex offender registry later in life, but that's neither here nor there), Vegeta had a big, stupid smile on his face.

 _He must be having a really cool dream,_  thought Trunks.  _Like, swimming in a sea of spicy ramen and winning infinite zeni._

* * *

 

As the Saiyan Prince emerged from the Sea of Spicy Entrails, his golden hair became fire-engine red. The cells of his muscles each became the size of basketballs. His eyes blazed with ionizing radiation that gave terminal cancer to anyone who looked at them. At long last, he had won infinite power.

Goku, who had inexplicably shrank three feet in height a few days prior, cowered before Vegeta. "Can it be true?" said Goku, who was also inexplicably speaking in Krillin's voice. "The Super Saiyan Devil form?"

 **"YES,"** growled SSD Vegeta, as he pelvic thrusted a random continent into deep orbit.

"Truly, you have surpassed my strength!" said Goku. "But will you use your newfound powers for good, or for evil?"

**_"SUCK MY DICK, KAKAROT!”_ **

With that, SSD Vegeta detonated Goku's skull with the indomitable strength of his atomic buttocks. Little bits of Goku brains painted the sky red with their vapors.

“Vegeta!” screamed Gohan. "You killed my dad! _...that is awesome!"_

"Well done," exclaimed Frieza who was wearing only a thong as per Lord Vegeta's command. "You have exceeded my expectations, master. Have a few thousand Reuben sandwiches with extra sauerkraut." He then presented a plate of said sandwich overload.

 **"I SAID A FEW _MILLION,_ BITCH!"** screamed Vegeta, as he backhanded Frieza into the center of the Sun. Frieza had never felt so honored.

And as Lord Vegeta descended to the Throne of Naked Bulmas to fill his face with corned beef and thousand island dressing, a shadowy figure crept into his domain of broken buildings and dead humans.

 **“WHO ARE _YOU,”_** roared Vegeta, **“TO ENTER THE REALM OF A GOD?!”**

As he drew back his hood, the stranger smirked and said: “Hi, A God…”

* * *

 

“…I’m Dad.”

Suddenly, Vegeta had regressed into the form of a baby, as he sat in a crib and looked up at his late father, King Vegeta, in full royal dress. (Being that it was a Saiyan crib, he had to be careful to avoid the iron spikes, barbed wire, and other “character-building implements.”) Before he could scream, the king placed a pacifier in his mouth.

“That’s better,” said the king. “Now, then, as you may have guessed by now, you’re having a dream. That’s one of the benefits of being in Hell, I suppose - if I’m a good little victim for long enough, I get to be paroled into some unlucky kid’s nightmares. As you’re about to wake up soon, I don’t have a lot of time, so listen carefully.”

Vegeta The Younger (who was even The Younger than usual) spat out his pacifier. “Go ‘way, dah,” he grumbled, though his teeth hadn’t yet formed. “You meth up my dweam!”

“I’m sure,” said Vegeta the Elder. “But there’s a Tuffle assassin headed your way.”

“Tuffa?! You kiwd awda Tuffath!”

King Vegeta sighed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he said. “I think we should start this explanation from the beginning. You see—“

**“DAD! WAKE UP!”**

* * *

 

Vegeta jerked into a sitting position and readied a Galick Gun for whoever had the brass balls to interrupt his sleep. It was Trunks. After a few seconds of careful deliberation, he decided _not_ to murder his own son on instinct.

“Dad,” said Trunks, with tears streaming down his face. “I just saw the news - yesterday, some jerk in West City decapitated Satan Claus!”

**Author's Note:**

> Original Tuffle names and their basis, in order of appearance:
> 
> Emperor Ferootus XVIII: "Fruits," sort of how Vegeta was for "vegetable".  
> Chancellor Bardelay: Bartlett pears.  
> Admiral Radalesh: Red Delicious apples.  
> Bishop Leemo: Lemon.  
> Lady Pample: "Pamplemousse," French for grapefruit.  
> Makinto: Macintosh apples.


End file.
